


the rest can all fall apart

by PeppyBismilk



Series: Casphardt Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Linhardt sleeps better in Caspar’s arms.----FE3H Kinkmeme Light fill for Caspar and Linhardt experiencing their first time together.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: Casphardt Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009218
Comments: 13
Kudos: 149
Collections: FE3H Kinkmeme Light





	the rest can all fall apart

**Author's Note:**

> fe3h kinkmeme light fill for this prompt: [ Caspar/Linhardt experiencing their first time together](https://fe3h-kinkmeme-light.dreamwidth.org/452.html?replyto=2500)

Linhardt never talked in his sleep before the war.

When they were students, Caspar would find him, curled up in corners, fast asleep. Sometimes Caspar would carry Linhardt back to his room and tuck him into bed, but sometimes Caspar would hang around wherever Linhardt had passed out and do some stretches or warmups, just to watch over him.

Never once had he uttered a word.

Now, Caspar watches Linhardt sleep out of fear. Linhardt never speaks of them while awake, but he has nightmares. It’s not like him—Linhardt doesn’t get scared. He’s too practical for ghosts and monsters under the bed, and he hates the war but doesn’t fear it. 

Except he calls out in his sleep, for their Professor, for Edelgard, for Caspar. Always in fear. When he wakes, he either pretends not to remember or truly doesn’t, and Caspar isn’t sure which scares him more.

So when they’re together, he stays with Linhardt, sleeps next to him in camp and in the barracks, and Linhardt doesn’t seem to mind. More than once, Caspar’s woken up with Linhardt’s head on his chest, one arm curled around his waist. 

Caspar definitely doesn’t mind that. He’s not sure when his feelings shifted. Maybe the war changed him, too, but warmth blooms deep in his heart when Linhardt comes to him for rest. 

Linhardt sleeps better on Caspar, and not all his dreams are nightmares. Some nights when Linhardt calls his name, it’s a different kind of breathless. No one else’s name gets that treatment—low and throaty, over and over again, a little louder every time. Caspar doesn’t get much sleep those nights.

Linhardt never brings those dreams up either. Caspar would—he’s not shy—but what if Linhardt stopped sleeping on him? The fear snags his tongue, because Caspar knows fear. Losing Linhardt is his biggest—worse than lightning and death. 

So he lets Linhardt use his chest as a pillow and leave when he wakes, because Linhardt’s peace means everything to him.

But that doesn’t make it any easier when Linhardt dreams about him. 

“ _Caspar…”_ Linhardt’s mumbled moan jars Caspar from sleep. His limbs tingle where Linhardt is sleeping on him, but he’s used to that. Just hearing his name like that is enough to make for another sleepless night, but Linhardt isn’t done.  _ “Don’t go so fast, I can’t…feel you. Like that. That’s...good boy.”  _

Shit. He usually isn’t this coherent, and Caspar feels blood rushing his cock. Linhardt’s bossy even in his sleep, and it does things to Caspar. 

_ “Mmm, there it is,”  _ Linhardt sighs, his legs shifting against Caspar’s. The friction sends shivers up Caspar’s spine and fills his cock even more.  _ “Right there, Cas…” _

_ Shishitshit, this is bad. _ Caspar’s boner rages—something about the nickname? It doesn’t matter. He has to do something. 

His only idea isn’t very good, but he goes through with it anyway. He shakes Linhardt awake.

From Linhardt’s lips, a hum melts into Caspar’s name. His eyes open, just a crack. “Alas, dreaming again…”

“Yeah,” says Caspar, heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his cock. He can’t help himself. “What were you dreaming about?”

“You, obviously,” Linhardt says. “I’ve been talking in my sleep, haven’t I?”

Mouth open, Caspar nods. “You can tell?”

“Since you woke me up, you undoubtedly heard me.” Linhardt rolls onto his back and Caspar glances down. The sheets are tented over Linhardt’s hips and his own cock throbs. “You can hardly hold me accountable for the content of my dreams.”

It takes Caspar a moment to piece the sentence together, but Linhardt sounds annoyed. He hates waking up early, though he’s never gotten mad at Caspar for waking him before, so it must be the dream itself.  _ Oh.  _ It hits him.  _ He doesn’t want to dream about me. _

Linhardt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Caspar, I can hear you thinking.”

“Sorry.” Caspar pouts and his thus far undetected boner pouts, too. 

“Unless you’re apologizing for waking me up, your apology is unnecessary,” Linhardt sighs. “But there’s no point in me apologizing, either. Even if my dreams are manifestations of my waking thoughts, I’ve acted upon neither and thus have committed no wrong.”

That one takes Caspar a full ten minutes to parse, which helps the situation in his pants, but when his brain finally clicks on  _ waking thoughts,  _ he sits upright in bed. “You think about having sex with me while you’re awake?!”

“Wha?” Linhardt’s groggy groan is much less confusing—he had fallen asleep again, and guilt snags Caspar’s gut. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Caspar says, “I just need to check something you said, then you can go back to sleep.” 

And like a miracle, Linhardt sits up, too. Eyes too wide for how drowsy he must feel, he blinks at Caspar. They’re practically nose to nose—Caspar can feel him breathing.

“Yes.”

One word. That’s all Linhardt says, and Caspar’s brain hurts. He’s too tired and frustrated to figure Linhardt out tonight. How is it that the one person who makes everything make sense can be so confusing? 

Soft fingers seek out Caspar’s hand. “Yes, I think about having sex with you while I’m awake.”

Well. It doesn’t get any clearer than that. Linhardt’s words buzz around Caspar’s mind, calming and charging his nerves at the same time. “Do you still want to go back to sleep?”

“A bit.” Linhardt yawns in Caspar’s face for effect and Caspar does something he’s wanted to do for years. 

He catches Linhardt’s yawn with his mouth. It’s easy to match the shape—Caspar’s seen it a million times, devoted more time studying those lips than any book. 

Linhardt’s sleepy sigh dissolves into something else, something that breaks the yawn and draws Caspar in, and it’s truly a kiss now, not an experiment or a waking thought. 

Neither of them are very good at it, not at first. Caspar’s kissed other people before and he’s pretty sure Linhardt has too, but together, their mouths open too wide and it’s too wet, too sloppy. They adjust. Noses clash from overcorrection, but it doesn’t stop them, and eventually they click into place, mouths slotting together like Caspar’s hand in Linhardt’s. Effortless. Well, not quite, but the longer it goes on, the easier it gets to forget the failed attempts.

It’s not just their hands and mouths that fit together, but their bodies, too. Linhardt’s shoulder curves in where Caspar’s juts out, Caspar’s muscles cushion Linhardt’s bones, and Linhardt’s slim hips fill the space between Caspar’s spread thighs—mated flush except where they’re both hard, and maybe they need to hold off a second. 

“I think about it, too,” Caspar breaks the kiss to say. The confession tumbles out, breathless, and Linhardt’s brow crinkles. 

“Think about what?” Linhardt seems much more composed, but his chest rising and falling below Caspar’s sells him out. Linhardt doesn't get all worked up for nothing.

“You already forgot?” 

Linhardt doesn’t blush for nothing, either. “Well, my mind is rather preoccupied at the moment.”

“I think about having sex with you, too,” Caspar blurts. “Are we going to have sex now?”

“If you’d like to.” Linhardt’s cock, still hard against Caspar’s own and hot even through multiple layers of fabric, betrays his nonchalance. 

“Come on, Lin,” pouts Caspar. “If there was ever a time to lose your cool, it’s now.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Linhardt’s yanking at his hand and pressing it to his hairline. It’s damp. Linhardt is sweating. Just from kissing. 

“I assure you, my cool is entirely absent.” 

Triumph, like the rush of victory, sweeps through Caspar, and he cups Linhardt’s face in both hands to find that magic angle again. 

Kissing him is—it’s hard to put into words. Linhardt makes all sorts of wonderful noises Caspar’s never heard before: little gasps and moans that harmonize with his own. Sometime they’ll have to just kiss, but Linhardt keeps writhing below him and arching into him, pushing their bodies closer than they’ve ever been until the friction is almost unbearable. 

It’s gonna happen, and Caspar really doesn’t want it to happen while they’ve still got their pants on. He slides his hands down Linhardt’s body—shirts should come off, too, but pants first—past his narrow waist to his narrow hips to where his sleep pants hang low. There’s nothing underneath when he pushes them off—not  _ nothing, _ there’s a pelvis and trim thighs and a hard dick Caspar’s aching to touch—but he’s not wearing any undergarments. Caspar’s moan comes out more like a growl, and Linhardt kicks his pants to the foot of the bed, then yanks Caspar’s pants and linens down with as much conviction as Caspar’s ever seen from him. 

Caspar’s cock springs out, brushing Linhardt’s on the rebound, and they both gasp. Hunger coils low in Caspar’s belly when he looks down, sees their cocks together, crossed like swords. The fever where they intersect threatens to take his whole body; he needs it, needs to feel Linhardt’s entire length against his. Clever as always, Linhardt figures it out first, and his hand encircles both of their cocks—seems they fit together here, too. For a long moment, Caspar just watches as those long, elegant fingers travel up and down—fuck, is he using magic to slick the way or are his hands just that smooth?—but when Linhardt slides up to the tips and squeezes them together, Caspar springs to life. 

One hand joins Linhardt’s while the other grips the back of his neck. Caspar crashes their foreheads together—Linhardt’s is dripping now. Faster, Caspar pushes their tempo, until he’s pulling beautiful sounds from deep in Linhardt’s throat.

“I knew I could get you to work up a sweat.” Heavy breaths punctuate Caspar’s playful jab, and one corner of Linhardt’s open mouth quirks up. 

His free hand’s been fondling Caspar’s chest thought his shirt until now, but he lowers it to their mated cocks and grips just above where their hands are joined.

“Only you.” His promise is a jolt to Caspar’s dick, even though his hands are perfectly still. “I know you watch over me. You take care of me.” 

“You take care of me,” Caspar tries to say. Linhardt cuts him off with a kiss, still holding their cocks steady even as Caspar tries to buck into him.

“Shh, I’m talking now,” Linhardt tells him, and the words sink into Caspar and wind him tighter “When I’m with you, I can see past this war. That’s why I sleep better in your arms. You’re so good to me. So good.” The second time, he sighs it, and Caspar’s vibrating above him, hovering on the edge, hinged to his words.

It all happens at once. Linhardt calls his name. He twists his hands in opposite directions—gently; it doesn’t take much. Pleasure blazes through Caspar’s core and the next thing he knows, he’s spattering his shirt with come, Linhardt’s jerking them up and down, and then he’s coming, too, chest heaving as he paints their joined hands in streaks of white. 

It takes a while to come down, but of course Linhardt’s eyelids begin to droop. Caspar cleans them up with his shirt, not missing the way Linhardt’s eyes lift to linger on his bare chest. When Caspar settles back into bed, Linhardt’s already mostly asleep, but he stirs to nestle himself between Caspar’s arm and chest.

The nightmares never come back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing beats a Caspar mattress!
> 
> Hope you liked it, OP, and thanks to anyone who reads!
> 
> Title comes from Thursday by Asobi Seksu.
> 
> My other Casphardt kinkmeme fills  
> [where do you get off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24553393) (sex on a crowded train)  
> [run me 'til i can't go further](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346504) (size kink)  
> [intoxicated, flying high](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473587) (sweat kink)  
> [somebody once told me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458335) (jerking off while watching shrek)  
> [knocked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649873) (ass eating while playing video games)  
> [keep your chin up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811681) (deepthroating)  
> [gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863230) (Gremory Linhardt)  
> [gift-wrapped](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027519) (powerbottom Caspar)  
> [can’t live without your love inside me now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079596) (fisting)  
> [no small feat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243759) (small dick and proud Caspar)  
> [getting better all the time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26412094) (bad sex turned good)  
> [overdue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451880) (librarian kink)


End file.
